


Tales From Risa: TOS

by bottomlessblue



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, Shore Leave, like the beach episode but in space, shore leave Trek is best Trek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomlessblue/pseuds/bottomlessblue
Summary: A collection of short stories showing the adventures the crew of the Starship Enterprise get up to when they go on shore leave. After all, Risa may be a pleasure planet, but that doesn't mean it's boring.





	1. Jim

**Author's Note:**

> This series came about because I had the thought "what if every episode of Star Trek was a shore leave episode?" We're going to follow each of the main crew members of the Enterprise to see what type of misadventure will find them when they're trying not to have an adventure at all.

As the gentle rays of dawn entered through the open window, Captain James T. Kirk woke and stretched his arms above him, the light falling across his face and chest. He stood, doing his best not to disturb the Andorian woman sleeping next to him in the large bed, and strode to the window to survey the morning. Only one of Risa’s suns had risen; it was earlier than he’d intended to wake. Still, he had no intention of wasting one of his precious few days on the pleasure planet, and he turned to the replicator to make a cup of coffee. 

As the steaming hot mug appeared in front of him, he heard his partner stirring in the bed behind him. He’d met her the previous night, similarly unwilling to be on shore leave, a Starfleet science officer aboard USS Sagittarius. Tirin, he recalled her name, and he smiled as her mussed white hair fell over her face as she rolled over. It had been a most exciting evening - why was it that he never remembered how enjoyable shore leave could be until he was nearly forced to take it? - starting when Tirin had come from across the poolside bar to challenge him to a race through the waves to the nearest buoy. She claimed she’d seen him swimming earlier and thought he was the first worthwhile competitor she’d seen since arriving. Indeed, she had just nearly edged him out to reach the buoy, her slender arms wrapping around the bobbing red orb, Kirk only an arm’s length behind her. They’d laughed while clinging to the float, the perfectly temperate waves lapping against them.

Tirin would be returning to her own ship later today, while Kirk still had three more days of leave before the Enterprise returned for him. Watching the second sun begin to peek over the horizon, the beautiful pinkish-orange light reflecting off the waves outside his cabana, he had thought that he’d spend the day climbing the legendary cliffs at Galartha, which were said to change their angle and handholds even while you were ascending. He looked forward to the challenge; Bones had bet him that he wouldn’t be able to reach the top and he fully intended to prove the doctor wrong. 

He tried to use the natural light of the room to find the pair of trousers he’d discarded the night before, not wanting to turn a light on and wake Tirin. He tip-toed around the bed to reach for his lightweight linen shirt when Tirin rolled over again to face him, her eyes open, strands of hair still obscuring the lower half of her face. “Good morning,” he said, sitting down next to her. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Tirin said, yawning. “I usually wake up around this time.” She reached out to pull him closer to her, until he was laying on top of her once more. “I hope you weren’t thinking of getting dressed already,” she murmured before pressing her lips against his. He dropped the shirt he’d been holding, resting his hands against her warm, blue skin.

\---

After eating a hearty breakfast - a real breakfast, not a replicated one - Kirk set out towards the cliffs of Galartha. He wore simple, light clothes once more, the day quickly warming to a perfect late spring morning. He did make sure that his shoes were sturdy, however, and he bore a small pack with water, a snack, and a small first aid kit should anything happen. He made a mental note to tell Bones that he’d actually remembered to bring it with him this time, and he could just imagine Spock’s voice saying, “Captain, it is illogical to assume that you will not be injured simply because Risa is a planet of leisure.” He smiled, a spring in his step, as he waved to a few other walkers along the path.

At first, Jim thought Bones had simply been pulling his leg when he’d been describing the difficulties of climbing at Galartha - the first section of his hike was little more than a pleasant stroll. He, of course, had no problem with a nice walk, but it was hardly the challenging climb he’d been expecting. However, when he heard a deep rumbling sound coming from beneath and ahead of him, he could guess what was about to happen. A moment later, the path took a sharp rise upwards, and a set of handholds appeared in front of him. They were exactly spaced to force him to reach, not allowing him to rest easily between steps. He eagerly began to scale the first rise of the cliff.

Soon after, he felt a pitching beneath him, and the path quickly flattened out, nearly forcing him to his knees as his foothold withdrew from under his boot. He grinned and scrambled back to his feet, standing to see the view from where he was now. It was nearly impossible to gauge how far he’d come, the constantly changing landscape preventing him from determining his own path up the cliffs. From here, he could see the set of cabanas he’d been staying in, and he could see the buoy that he’d raced Tirin to yesterday. The sunlight glittered magnificently on the perfect turquoise sea. Feeling buoyed himself, Jim continued onwards.

An hour later, he stumbled as the path veered upwards, for the fourth time since he’d started climbing. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, seeing it come away damp with sweat. He could feel his legs trembling as he forced himself up towards the next set of handholds, and for the first time, he wondered if Bones might not be right about his ability to reach the top. He couldn’t be far now, though, could he? 

Somewhere under the rumbling of the moving cliff, he thought he heard a low moan - whether humanoid or animal, he could not say. He paused a moment, unsure if it had simply been the breeze passing through a temporary crevice created by the cliff, or if it wasn’t such a simple fluke. A moment later, he heard the moan again, somewhere off to his left. About ten meters in that direction, he found that the cliff face dropped off suddenly before rising again, creating something of a pit in the landscape. Peering down, he could see that there was a fellow hiker lying in the pit, though there were handholds within his reach.

“Are you okay?” Jim called down. He could see from here that the other hiker was a Talarian, the lobes at the back of his head visible as he turned over. “Are you hurt?”

“I am fine!” a man’s voice growled from the pit, even as it was followed by a quiet whimper of pain. “I am not in need of assistance!” The Talarian’s voice cracked as he said this, and Jim realized that what he’d assumed was a man, was in fact little more than a boy. 

“Are you certain?” Jim asked cautiously. He knew the Talarians were a proudly war-like and competitive race; he doubted any of them would take kindly to his intrusion. But this one was so young and if he was injured, he was dubious that he could get out of the crevice on his own.

There was a pause before the Talarian answered, the area silent but for the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees nearby. “...No,” came the response, “I am not certain.”

That was all Jim needed to hear before he lowered himself into the pit, using the handholds to slow his descent. When he reached the bottom of the deep hole in the terrain, he could almost immediately see what was wrong - the Talarian’s leg was bent at an unnatural angle; it was badly fractured. No wonder he had been unable to get himself back to the main path. He cautiously approached the writhing youth. “My name’s Jim; what is yours?” he asked slowly as he assessed their options.

Through gritted teeth, the Talarian answered, “Randen.” Jim knelt down next to him, and outstretched a hand to gently turn the boy’s leg, but he twitched away before contact was made. He remembered that Talarians disliked being touched by other races; they used gloves when it was absolutely necessary.

He slowly said, “Randen, I don’t have gloves, but I’m going to need to touch you if I’m going to be able to get you out of here. Would it be acceptable if I used my sleeves instead?” The boy grimaced, but eventually nodded. Struck by a thought, Jim tore off the fabric of his trousers below the knee and knotted it around his hands to create a makeshift covering that would be simpler than constantly tugging his sleeves down to avoid touching Randen. “Now Randen, how did you get stuck down here?” he asked as he pressed his hands against the boy’s shin.

He made conversation to keep the Talarian distracted while he made his best attempt at a medical exam - he’d seen Bones and Nurse Chapel do it a hundred times, and now he was realizing that they made it look all too easy. Randen explained that his family was here vacationing, and he’d wandered away from them to see if he could take on the more challenging hikes on his own. He’d been caught unawares when a slab of rock had suddenly shifted beneath him, and he’d fallen down here. This bit of terrain had not shifted since, and he’d been here for nearly an hour already.

Jim nodded; he’d noticed that the main trail shifted and altered itself far more often than the areas off the beaten path. Still, an hour was an awfully long time, and he could only imagine that it would feel much longer if he was in pain. “I’m guessing you’re not going to be able to put any weight on that leg at all, and I don’t think you should give it a try,” he said finally. He checked his communicator and found that he could not maintain an active link with the satellite; he would not be able to contact anyone back at the base of the cliffs to come and get them until they made it closer to the main path.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said briskly, using the voice he often used with confused or frightened ensigns. “I’m going to boost you up to that larger group of handholds over there, alright?” he asked, pointing to where he meant. “You’re going to wait there while I climb back up to the rim here and pull you up the rest of the way. Sound like a plan?”

There was another pause while Randen considered. “That is… yes, that is acceptable.” He pushed himself upright, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Jim wrapped his arms around his shoulders and slowly pulled him upright, doing his best not to agitate the broken leg. Randen did his best to hold in the low whimpers and groans that escaped him, and Jim steadfastly ignored them, determined not to make this boy lose any more face than he already had. Together, they hobbled over to the west face of the hole they were in and they began the painstaking work of climbing out.

Randen needed to take frequent breaks, and Jim, supporting his weight, tried not to let on that he did as well. After nearly every meter of progress, they stopped to breathe and take sips of the water that Jim had brought. He wished that the basic aid kit he’d brought had anything that would help with the pain, but he knew it had been formulated for human biochemistry and he didn’t know enough to say if the painkiller included in the kit would help or hurt a Talarian. He decided that for now it was best not to risk it.

When they reached the cluster of handholds that formed something like a ledge, Randen groaned and lay back against it, breathing heavily. “How are you holding up?” Jim asked quickly, “Do we need to take a longer break?” 

The proud boy shook his head and wheezed, “No. We should continue as soon as possible.”

Regardless of the boy’s answer, Jim sat down next to him, pouring some water from his canteen into his mouth. “So tell me about your family, Randen,” he said, “Why did you wander off from them?”

The Talarian gritted his teeth for a moment before answering. “I am nearing the Age of Decision. Soon I will not need to bow to my father’s wishes.” Jim felt that this answer needed more elaboration, but Randen offered none.

After fifteen minutes, Jim left Randen on the ledge and continued his ascent, hoping that from this vantage point, the boy could not see his trembling leg struggling to support his own weight. He steeled himself with a deep breath before continuing. As he neared the top, he could see the landscape shift once more, though his own position remained stationary. He managed to get his arms up over the ledge, and realized it would be more work than he thought to even hoist himself up over the rim entirely. He made sure his feet were firm on the rocks that jutted out from the side and did his best to propel himself upwards, hoping his legs would give him momentum that his arms could not.

He landed with a heavy thud on the ground, flat on his chest, the wind knocked out of him. He removed his pack from around his shoulder and lowered himself as much as he felt able to without falling forwards. He outstretched his arms to Randen on the ledge below. “Can you grab my hands?” he grunted, trying still to lengthen his reach.

Randen tentatively reached upwards, leaning his chest against the rock face to avoid losing his balance on one leg. His fingertips brushed Jim’s and he called up, “Not quite! I am very close!” Jim could see him trying to stand on the toes of his one good leg.

“Hold on, I’m going to see if I can lower myself a bit more,” Jim responded, turning back to see if there was anything he could wrap his legs around, or anything that would secure him to the upper part of the ledge. Finally, he removed the small knife from his pack and cut off the strap so he could use it to tie his own ankles to a tree near the ledge. He tested the strength of the sturdy fabric as he knotted it, flexing and pulling it, hoping it would support them for just a moment.

The moment of truth - he wiped the sweat from his brow once more; the day was still a perfectly moderate temperature, but the sun was high in the sky and the exertion of climbing had done him no favors. Not wanting to prolong the risk any longer than necessary, he lowered himself down once more to the ledge where Randen still stood, perched on one leg. Both of them let out a whoop of triumph as their hands connected more solidly this time, able to find purchase with the extra centimeters given by the strap.

“Okay, I’m going to guide you up, understood?” Jim said slowly. “I’m going to pull you up as much as I can, and you’re going to get as much of a foothold as you can on your good leg. Got that?”

“Understood,” Randen said through gritted teeth, clearly preparing himself to feel the pain in just a moment.

“Okay, we’re going to count down together, alright?” Jim instructed. “3…”

“2…”

“1!” They exclaimed together, as Jim put all the strength of his legs and core into pulling the boy up and Randen jumped towards him, scrambling to get his feet in place at the next foothold.

There was a terrible moment as Randen flailed backwards, his weight not centered, and he pulled hard on Jim’s arms as he tried to steady himself. Jim let out a gasp as he tensed his legs, trying to make sure he did not get pulled down. A spray of pebbles and dust fell downwards from the rock face, sprinkling down upon the flat surface below. Jim could feel his heart rate skyrocket as he heard them strike what seemed like an impossibly long time after they fell. The image of Bones scolding him about what was supposed to be a perfectly relaxing vacation appeared, uninvited, in his head.

But he maintained his iron grip on Randen’s hands and the Talarian managed to steady himself, leaning once more against the rock. Both of them were breathing heavily, sweat drops falling from their faces. Jim could feel a flush rising in his cheeks from the exertion as he said, “One more push should do it!”

Randen nodded below. “Let’s get it over with,” he panted. He readied himself for another lunge.

“3…”

“2…”

“1!”

Jim managed to pull Randen up with a mighty heave, every muscle in his back straining at once. He did not manage to roll out of the way in time as the Talarian landed practically on top of him. Randen roared with pain as his injured leg took some of the weight of his fall. Jim lay there panting for a moment as Randen rolled to his side, cradling his bad leg.

A cool breeze blew by at that moment, and Jim was almost able to laugh with relief that they’d both gotten out of the pit in one piece - or at least, he would have been able to had he managed to catch his breath. Finally, he dragged himself up again, loosening the knots around his ankles and the tree trunk, examining the strap to see if it had held up. He found one length, where it had been pulled against the opposite side of the tree, where the fabric was held together by just a few fibers, and he tried to hide it from Randen before he saw just how close it had been.

Once more, he put his weight under Randen’s shoulders to prop him up, getting them both into a standing position so they could start to make their way back down the cliff. Jim thanked his lucky stars that the path remained manageably gentle most of the way, and he wondered if the main path somehow responded to the whims of the climber. He’d have to look into that later; it was an interesting possibility.

Near the bottom of the cliff, back where he’d started, Jim spied a family of Talarians clustered together. As they approached, he noted that none of them seemed concerned or worried, and he wondered if this was Randen’s family after all, or perhaps just another group of Talarians who were here by coincidence. However, Randen’s increasingly taciturn silence indicated to Jim that he had not made a mistake in his first identification.

As the group at the base saw them approaching, a burly adult man stepped forward and let out a barking laugh as he saw Jim supporting Randen’s weight. “I knew it!” he called out, before they’d even closed the distance between them. “I knew you could not make it to the top on your own!”

Randen begrudgingly bowed his head to his father. “I have failed in your challenge, sir,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

The older Talarian spat on the ground, near his son’s feet. “You have disappointed me once again,” he said, his voice bitter.

Jim, after ensuring that Randen was able to stand on his own, if not walk, stepped forward to come face to face with the father. “Your son is no disappointment,” he said firmly. “He is brave and resilient and he took your challenge-” he spat the word derisively “-and faced it honorably.”

The father ignored him and stepped forward to grab Randen by the shoulder and drag him back towards the clustered family. “Come, Randen,” he said gruffly, pushing his way past Jim.

As the made their way past him, Jim reached out and put his hand on Randen’s shoulder. “How long, again, until your Age of Decision?”

“Two weeks,” Randen said softly, trying not to look at his father.

“Stay strong until then,” Jim said, squeezing his shoulder. He watched them all walk away together, Randen, his parents, and several other children, who all looked younger than Randen himself. The children’s mother said nothing as the man lead them all away. He shook his head, trying to remind himself that there was nothing he could do about this particular family situation. However, the next time the Enterprise happened to be in the area of the Talarian homeworld, he was sure he could find an excuse to drop in for a visit.

\---

That evening, watching the stars rise over the bay, Jim groaned as the masseuse put all his weight into the knots at the base of his back, which had been bad enough even before the events of the day. Bones was always nagging him to have better posture in the command chair, but Jim figured if it was an excuse to get massages like this, he might start slouching even more.

He propped his chin up on his folded arms and looked out at ships coming and going from Risa Control, and he wondered if Randen was on any of them. Two more weeks, he thought. He was a tough kid; he’ll make it through two more weeks. He took another slow sip from his Saurian brandy and tried to let the incident wash from his mind for the time being. He was told that vacations were supposed to be uneventful, but he had yet to experience one that was.

As the masseuse leaned close over him and murmured, “Do you want me to get lower?” Jim nodded enthusiastically and hoped that he would never know the meaning of ‘uneventful’.


	2. Spock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock enters a kal-toh tournament on Risa. Or, more accurately, Jim enters Spock into the tournament. But a sudden thrown move during a challenging game alerts Spock to something more happening behind the scenes.

The kal-toh tournament was going well, all things considered. Spock rather felt that choosing Risa as the location for the tournament was bending to the wishes of the non-Vulcan races who wished to compete, but he supposed that was the price of opening the tournament to others in the first place. He was currently engaged in a match against T’Kel, an older Vulcan woman who was proving herself more than capable against Spock. 

He had made it to the third round of the tournament now; if he won against T’Kel now, he would advance to the finals. However, he presently estimated his odds of winning as far lower than in his previous matches; T’Kel had trained at the game far longer than Spock himself had. This was only logical; he had entered the tournament not expecting to win. In fact, when the Enterprise had passed close to Risa and news about the tournament had reached them, Spock had not intended to enter at all. He had done so at his captain’s insistence, though once the games had begun, he found himself rather enjoying the experience.

For one thing, he was surrounded by far more Vulcans than he ever was on the Enterprise. While he often found the quirks of his crewmates intriguing, it was still pleasant to find himself among calm, rational company once more. Perhaps this excursion was having the relaxing effect that Jim had wanted it to after all. With this in mind, Spock determined that perhaps he should be less resistant when it came to some of the Captain’s other ploys. Perhaps. He would have time to give that greater thought when he was not engaged in a rather difficult game of kal-toh against a formidable opponent.

On T’Kel’s turn, she made a move that Spock could only see as a grave and obvious error. It left a large opening for him to move the winning t’an. He looked inquisitively at the woman, but found her expression as placid and blank as ever. He almost asked if she was certain that was the move she wished to make; for such a skilled player to make such a beginner mistake was unheard of. He thought better of it, however; he did not wish to insult her ability. He moved the final t’an that ended the game, the perfect symmetry of the kal-toh sphere restored. Simultaneously, they tapped the bells on the table that signaled that their game was finished; a handful of players from other nearby tables looked over to see who had won.

They both stood and made to part from the table. “Dif tor he smusma,” he said to her, defaulting to the Vulcan tongue, holding his hand up in a salute. She responded in kind, and left the table, evidently making her way towards the expansive refreshments table that had been set up against one of the long walls of the tournament room. As this was Spock’s last match of the day, he exited the room, emerging into a broad, flat, stretch of beach. He heard the seabirds crying above him and the waves crashing upon the shore. He walked sedately through the sand to the bungalows where the tournament competitors were being housed for the duration of the week. 

He opened the unlocked door to the bungalow - there was no crime on Risa, no bad weather, no unpleasantness to disturb the rest and relaxation of the visitors - and was thoroughly unsurprised when he found one James T Kirk sitting at the small desk in the room, sipping at a large and multi-colored frozen drink. “Hello, Captain,” Spock greeted. He waited for an explanation as to why Kirk was here, knowing one would come whether or not he asked for it.

“Spock!” Kirk said, spinning in his chair to face him. “How goes the tournament?”

“It is going well, Captain,” Spock said, sitting on the chaise longue that rested against one fabric-draped wall. “I have performed better than I anticipated. I will be entering the finals tomorrow.”

“The finals? Excellent!” Kirk said, punching the air. 

“Captain, I too am pleased, but I do not understand your exuberance.”

“Don’t you want to win, Spock?”

Spock considered his answer; phrasing it in a certain way would be sure to trigger another patented James T Kirk lecture on emotion. “I hope to display superior logic, that is correct. But if another player displays greater logic than mine, there is no shame in that. The competitors have all proven themselves most worthy.”

Kirk sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Are you enjoying yourself, at the very least? Do you feel relaxed?” he asked.

“Yes, Captain, I would say that I do. It is… mentally restful to find myself among so many Vulcans once more. The presence of logic is… refreshing, perhaps is the correct word.”

Kirk moved to sit next to Spock, saying, “Well, that’s something. And I daresay the rest of the crew is enjoying their shore leave as well. Goodness knows we’ve needed it.”

“Indeed, Captain. I am anticipating increased productivity and morale when we return to the Enterprise,” Spock said, with an almost-imperceptible degree of satisfaction. He could almost predict what Kirk would say next.

“Spock, it’s not just about the productivity! You make it sound so dry! It’s about giving people a chance to let their hair down!”

“Is that why you so often refuse to engage in shore leave yourself, Captain?” Spock asked. “Although I note that your hair is short enough that it would be difficult to ‘let it down.’” They had this conversation nearly every time they went on shore leave; Spock now found it an almost pleasingly familiar routine.

Kirk took another long sip from his drink; Spock could smell a variety of fruits in it, along with the synthohol - the Captain would never drink the real thing when an emergency requiring sobriety could arise at any moment. Eventually he said, “One of these days, Spock, we’ll get you to embrace your human side. I swear it.” He said it smilingly, but Spock felt a cool green flush rising on his cheeks nevertheless.

Spock got an adequate night of rest - he would have slept better were it not for the noises from the other bungalows - and arose early in the morning. He drank a glass of water as he watched the Risian sunrise, as picturesque as it had been every day since his arrival. He had some time to pass until his next match, so he took a walk through the area surrounding the tournament hall. A marketplace full of trinkets and mementos, swimwear and sandals, was next to the tournament building. From a distance, he spied Jim trying on a large, ostentatious pair of sunglasses, and he chose to turn and walk in the other direction.

As he turned back towards the hall, he thought to stop by the ranking board to see who his opponent would be in his next match. As he approached, he saw a young-looking Bolian woman jump as though startled. She took a furtive glance at him over her shoulder, then ran off. Spock was puzzled; he saw no reason for her to run from him. Unless, that is, she was engaged in some form of wrongdoing? Or something else which she would prefer to remain unseen? He continued his slow, steady approach to the rankings board. 

The board was, in essence, a large PADD which displayed moment-by-moment updates. As he approached, he noted that one of the input ports to the PADD had been left open, a careless mistake. He filed this fact away along with the fact that the other person most recently seen near the board had run away. Certainly that could add up to something, but perhaps it was nothing. He did not wish to leap to conclusions.

He had no other choice but to form a conclusion, however, when he saw that the rankings were not as they should be. He noticed first that his own point total was incorrect - it would only be correct if he had lost his match against T’Kel yesterday. He next checked T’Kel’s score. Hers was falsely elevated, as though she had beaten him yesterday. He checked the other scores against his memory of the previous day, and found discrepancies abounded. His brow furrowed; he would notify the tournament organizers immediately to have the scores set right. He would also tell them about the woman he’d seen running away from the board, though he could not say for certain that she was the culprit.

As he made his way towards the entrance to the spacious tent, he was intercepted by T’Kel. She paused before him and asked, “Have you seen the ranking board today?”

Spock answered, “Yes, I have, and I have reason to believe that someone has altered it.”

T’Kel raised an eyebrow. “May I ask what makes you say that?”

“The point totals are incorrect,” Spock said coolly. “I first noticed when I saw that it indicated that you defeated me in our match yesterday, though there are discrepancies in nearly every score.”

T’Kel nodded. “I noticed the same thing myself. I have just come from notifying the tournament hosts.”

Spock appreciated her quick action, even though the error had been in her favor. However, T’Kel’s awareness of the changing scores meant that the running woman had not been the one who hacked the board. He thanked her for notifying the hosts, and even as they talked, they saw one of the hosts walk out of the hall and towards the board, a smaller PADD in hand.

“I believe they’re going to rectify the issue now,” T’Kel said. “They indicated that they might postpone today’s matches until the scores can be corrected.”

“That would be most unfortunate, as I was looking forward to a challenging game today,” Spock said sincerely; he had been most appreciative of the sheer logic of the kal-toh tournament.

“I agree,” T’Kel said calmly. “Even as a spectator, the tournament is enjoyable.”

“May I ask you a question about our match yesterday?” Spock asked. This question had been present in his mind all night and morning and now he had the opportunity to ask.

“You may,” T’Kel assented.

“In your last turn, it appeared that you made a move that severely damaged your odds of winning, indeed leaving a large opening for me to make the winning move. It was a beginner mistake, not one a veteran kal-toh player would make. I hope you are not insulted by this observation,” he explained.

T’Kel shook her head. “In truth, I had little desire to move forward to the next round. One of your potential opponents is a man against whom I once claimed the kal-if-fee. My now-husband defeated him, though spared his life. I had hoped that he would not come to the tournament when he heard I would be here; that hope was in vain.”

Spock understood, as unusual as the circumstance was - he himself had experienced the potential irregularities of the kal-if-fee. “What is his name?” he asked. “I would like to know if I will be facing him in a future match.”

“His name is Salok,” T’Kel said. “He wears a burgundy tunic, and is perhaps four centimeters shorter than you.”

Spock nodded. “I will keep an eye out for him.” 

The two parted ways to continue about their morning - the day’s matches were postponed to the following day, so Spock found himself with more time to spend as he pleased. Jim persuaded him to come back to the marketplace and try on new clothes - he did need some non-uniform clothing for when he was off-duty. Spock did not mind the process terribly, though he did wish that Jim would stop giggling and taking pictures throughout the day.

The next time they passed by the leaderboard, they stopped to check the rankings. Jim asked, “Have they been corrected?”

“No, they have not,” Spock answered. The next matches would be starting in the morning; perhaps they would be corrected before then. He determined that there was, as yet, no cause for concern.

They returned to the rows of cabanas, where they parted ways, despite Jim’s insinuation that he wouldn’t mind staying. Spock had rather get a restful night of sleep, knowing that he may be facing a difficult match tomorrow - perhaps against Salok himself.

He arrived early for that match, after checking the leaderboard - they still had not been corrected. Entering the tournament hall, he found that he was not the only one who had arrived well before the match began. In one of the distant corners, T’Kel was cornered by Salok. He was clearly inebriated, his voice and hands raised against her. While Spock could see the T’Kel was remaining stoic, she was not unfazed by the encounter.

Spock strode quickly and silently across the tournament hall, catching Salok unawares. He grabbed the other man’s wrist, applying pressure to make him back down from T’Kel. Salok turned to face him, face contorted with rage. Spock understood instantly why T’Kel had declared the kal-if-fee against him; the man had no control over his emotions whatsoever, even if that was the effect of the alcohol.

“T’Kel,” Spock greeted calmly. “Is this man bothering you?”

“He is,” T’Kel replied coolly. “I would appreciate your assistance in removing him from the hall, if you are not opposed to doing so.”

“Not at all,” Spock replied, placing his other hand firmly against the back of Salok’s neck. The other man stumbled as he was escorted from the building; after Spock had removed him and called attention to a nearby guard, he returned to the hall where T’Kel still waited.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” T’Kel said. “I do not believe he wished or intended to injure me, only to humiliate me. I’m sure he’s quite unaware that he’s only managed to humiliate himself.”

“I should think so,” Spock replied. “I noticed this morning that the leaderboards had not been updated yet to reflect our correction.”

“I hadn’t had a chance to review it yet before Salok approached,” T’Kel said. “From what he’d said however, he’d bribed the tournament organizers to ensure that we would face each other in the finals,” she explained.

“From what little I’ve seen of the man,” Spock admitted, “I have no doubt that he would do such a thing. Do you intend to face him?”

“No,” she responded firmly. “I will not give in to what he wants. I will forfeit the tournament if need be.”

“Perhaps we can convince the tournament organizers otherwise?” Spock suggested. “There must be a way to allow you to remain in the competition without facing him.”

T’Kel shook her head. “No, I had explored such a possibility as soon as I found out he was here. They will not allow the matches to be rearranged.”

Spock raised one eyebrow and observed, “And yet such bribery would be permitted.”

T’Kel said evenly, “If I were to forfeit the tournament, however, they may allow you to advance as you should have, so that he does not go into the final round unchallenged.”

“I should not have advanced; you threw our first match together so that you wouldn’t have to face him,” Spock reminded her. 

“I would much rather see you defeat him,” she insisted. “It will rankle him to lose to a stranger; he’s played against most of our opponents on Vulcan in last year’s tournament.”

Spock considered trying to persuade her further, but her mind was made up and her logic was sound. “I will talk to the tournament organizers,” he eventually agreed. “I will let them know that you are ill and must forfeit your match. Perhaps they will allow me to proceed, but I do not believe it is a certainty.”

The tournament hosts would not arrive for some time, early as it was, so Spock returned to his cabana to eat breakfast. Unsurprisingly, Jim was already there, spreading jam on a slice of toast, and he looked up with a brilliant grin when Spock entered. “Where’d you get off to, Mr. Spock?”

“I had gone to check if the leaderboard was corrected,” he answered. He explained his encounter with Salok and T’Kel, patiently watching Jim’s reactions as he recounted what had happened.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Jim said when he concluded. “You’re going to beat him, of course, and he’ll be thoroughly shamed. He couldn’t even win with bribery and cheating! It’s a good plan.”

“If the tournament hosts allow me to compete in T’Kel’s stead,” Spock reminded him. 

Jim waved a hand. “I’m sure they will. The new organizers want the tournament to be dramatic, they want it to be tense. Someone advancing to the final round unchallenged isn’t dramatic or tense.”

“I’ll defer to your expertise in these matters, sir,” Spock said drily. He ate his breakfast and returned to the hall to speak to the hosts. Much as Jim had predicted, they allowed - even encouraged - him to take T’Kel’s seat in the match against Salok. Based on their tone, they didn’t expect him to win, but it was better than the alternative.

Spock took his seat opposite Salok, who seemed genuinely surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?” he growled, the smell of alcohol on his breath evident.

“T’Kel is feeling unwell. I will be competing in her stead, as her last competitor,” Spock said calmly. 

Salok said nothing more as their match began, and Spock soon found that he was a difficult competitor indeed. Even affected as he was by the alcohol, he was still highly skilled in the game of kal-toh, and Spock struggled to keep pace with him.

Fifteen minutes into their match, T’Kel quietly entered the tournament hall. Spock thought she was taking a rather unnecessary risk - what if the hosts determined that she had been well enough to compete and disqualified them both? Still, he could understand well enough why she would want to watch the match.

He returned his concentration to the match, but Salok seemed unable to refocus after seeing T’Kel enter. He kept glancing in her direction, and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. A green flush arose on his cheeks as he realized a mistake he had made about six moves back that he may not be able to recover from. Spock assessed the situation, trying to exploit the same vulnerability that Salok had just noticed he had left.

It was a long match; all the others at the tables around them had ended by the time theirs drew to a conclusion. Salok was now muttering under his breath, much to Spock’s displeasure. Still, he was able to quickly seize upon a poor move choice of Salok’s, and the kal-toh formed itself into a neat and perfect sphere. There was a smattering of polite applause around the tables, as the leaderboard was updated to reflect the result of the match.

Salok stared at the sphere in disbelief, before leaping to his feet to confront Spock. “You must’ve cheated! How did you pull it off?” he demanded.

Simultaneously, Jim appeared from behind him to restrain the enraged Vulcan, and a tournament judge insisted that it had been a legal match, comprised only of legal moves. This time, Jim escorted Salok out of the hall with a stern look at the tournament hosts. The non-Vulcan hosts at least had the decency to look ashamed, while the Vulcans among them looked as nonplussed as ever.

That night, Jim insisted on throwing a celebration for Spock, even though Spock had ensured him numerous times that he wanted no such thing. If there was one thing Risa did well, however, it was parties; even Spock had to admit that. And if the two of them shared a small, discreet kiss at the end of the night, any other Vulcans present politely pretended that they saw nothing.


End file.
